


Dance with the Raven

by UnAnimo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ala-Mr.&Mrs. Smith theme, Assassins & Hitmen, Hannibal AU, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Mr. & Mr. Graham, Murder Husbands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Will had no idea, or rather, same goes with his behalf, unless he was forced to, which is not working apparently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:18:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnAnimo/pseuds/UnAnimo
Summary: Secrets are meant to be kept. Unless...





	Dance with the Raven

Sitting on a cheap leather sofa in a battered living room, a bottle of whiskey on hand, surgical knife on the other, with a serene look of contemplation, Hannibal Lecter found himself staring at the unblinking eyes of a man lying in a pool of his own blood, throat slashed ear to ear. The need of forced entry was clearly effaced, resistance none, and Hannibal perceived within the minute the man opens his own door for the emissary of death, it's time to say goodbye. His own demise was expected; he had it coming. Or maybe the man had no other choice because he was trapped inside the apartment with no functional fire exits. Even if he did escape, there's nowhere to run, for wherever he goes, whatever he do, the likes of Hannibal Lecter will surely end his pitiful life in a heartbeat.

Hannibal glanced around the room, taking an inner inventory of the apartment. The man used to have a family before, the portrait of the two young girls and a woman who look like their mother, said so. There's a picture, too, of a fisherman along with miniature mermaids and dolphins on the bookshelves. It reminds him of someone back home, probably playing with their dogs.

The clock strikes eleven. Time to leave. He dialed the number of the Police precinct four blocks away through the dead man's phone and mimicked the dead man's foreign accent. _Hay un hombre muerto aquí_... and took one last glimpse of the details of the apartment before closing the door, leaving the former crime monger now dead fisherman behind him.

He fished out his phone and pressed the quick dial. "I found him," he said. A female voice purred back.

“And?”

"It's done.”

Three minutes later, blues and reds and sirens wailing skidding along the muted streets of Sinaloa. Hannibal disappeared into the shadows of the night long before the fire spreads to the neighborhood.

 

* * *

 

The phone rang twice now, and the lean figure of the half naked man sprawled on the plush queen size bed finally groans. It's a classical one, D Major, one to sooth a lover of fine music. He's not a lover of such music, however, more into blues and jazz, but it didn't escape him the urge to strangle the person who customizes the tune. It meant as a joke, but it still pisses him off. And because of that, Will Graham ignored the damn thing and rolled to his side, burying his face deeper to the pillows. "Asshole," he muttered.

It rang again, and again, and again. Finally, Will had enough.

Though his whole body felt like lead, he stretched his arm to reach for the phone on the bedside table… of which is not there. Curious as to where he left it, and sure he left it _there_ , he pushed himself out of the bed and took a crucial inventory of the room. The sound was coming outside the bedroom.

Something is not right.

Will grabbed the gun that he safely stashes under the pillow and took a slow meandering path towards the dimly lit hallway, aiming ahead and ready to shoot anything that moves.

His hackles rise at the sight of the living room. It was bright, all light up and the blinds were drawn open, making the room bare for the surrounding skyscrapers. His blue eyes swiftly past the main door. It was sealed shut but obviously the security lock was fucked up now.

He was about to push the main control for the window blinds when Mozart caught him mid-stride. The tune thrilled the air once more and… _there it is_. At the center of the room, on the coffee table, still shrieking that fucking version of Lacrimosa was the rectangular matte black colored mass of a gadget. He flicked his gaze to the building adjacent to his suite room. 31st floor, third window to the left, a figure looming in the shadows. Will smirked. Bingo.

"Speak," he answered the phone in a flat voice, or more like bored. Surely, the one holding his attention is fully aware of Will Graham's profile. Distinct. Dangerous. Lethal. And needed something from him. Even the moron had Will under the crosshair, the assassin, whoever they are, won't kill him. Not yet, at least.

"Damn, took you long enough." The voice was blurred, two times slower than normal. A woman, Will assumed. Oh, how sweet. "You sleep like a bear on winter."

Sniper rifle under the bed, ten seconds to get it, fifteen including the setup. And by that time the walls of his suite will be disintegrated and he'll be dead. He was fast, yes, but fuck, the interior of the room pinned him to where he stands. There's always a rule in this kind of business. Never trust an intern for choosing a hotel.

"You should be grateful," he said, "otherwise we wouldn't be talking right now."

"Oh yes, grateful indeed," she practically purred through the mouthpiece of which is kinda irking for Will who's half thinking to drop the phone and go back to bed instead. "It's a great privilege watching your pretty face while you sleep."

Fucking neophytes. "No one told you your flirting sucks, yes? I admired your breaking in though, I tell you that."

"Let's get down to business."

Will snorted. "Wow. We're not even *there* yet and annoyed already?" The person he's living with back home was the epitome in that regard.

"I would not gamble the cards yet if I were you, Mr. Graham."

"And this is the part where I should say go fuck yourself. You just woke me in the middle of the night only to find you're a nonsense! Jesus. Look. I'm tired and bored, and I don't want to get bored, it makes my hands itch so get to the point. I'll start counting sheep if you don't."

"Hannibal Lecter."

Will snapped his eyes towards the building adjacent to his.

"You've been married to that man for years, is that correct, Mr. Graham... or Lecter? I'm confused."

Will's nose flared. The serene face of Hannibal while cooking dinner in the pristine kitchen that he called his, half the world away, ten hours to be exact, was popping behind his eyes right now. His mind plays; Hannibal standing in the middle of the kitchen, deep in thought, or humming with the music playing around the house, hand with a knife, concentrating, grabbing the olive oil, tossing the salad, opening the oven to check the temperature of the meat, and then turns around to see...

...two men, one pointing a gun on his forehead, the other to hurt him only the likes of Will Graham knew how...

then kills him...

Though both of them were not in good terms, and divorce hangs in the air, still it's unfair.

Hannibal is just a simple man who loves aesthetics, music, and arts.

Why do they drag good people with the wrong ones?

Will's hand grips the gun tightly. This is the result of all of his doing. Beverly was right. He should have let Hannibal go when he had a chance.

"Touch him and I'll kill you all."

She laughs. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"What do you want from me?"

"Oh, we don't want anything from you, Mr. Graham-Lecter. This is all yours to decide."

"What?"

"Does your husband knows the nature of your job?"

"I assumed you knew that already."

"Are you aware of the truth of his?" Silence. "I take that as a no."

 

* * *

 

Hannibal was at the airport when his phone rang off. He groans when he saw the caller ID.

“Will.”

“Where are you?" It was a rare question coming from Will. Hannibal raised a brow. Usually, Will sends text messages saying he'll be late or don't wait up or something similar. Now…

Well, this is new, Hannibal thought. When was the last time Will cares about his whereabouts?

“Good evening to you, too, my dear." He noticed Will's voice sound like he's fighting the stairs. His husband was not fond of elevators and closed spaces, so maybe _he is_ … He shook his head, searching a private spot and found one. "Are you running up the stairs again?”

"Jack booked me at the 31st."

"I see." He glanced at his watch. “I’m about to leave in five minutes.”

"Going where?"

"The Opera. Mrs. Komeda invited us two weeks ago, remember? I think not for as you just don't care."

"My opinion matters now?" Will said.

"What a redundant question, my dear. How is the convention?”

“Bored.”

“Do you want me to fetch you at the airport when you arrive?”

Will laugh at that. "I'm _sure_ you're thrilled to do that. I'll be there tomorrow afternoon to get the boys and go straight to Wolftrap, anyway, so no need."

"You will be here by dinner time."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You have. But be as it may, this is your home so I don't have a choice, either. Dinner at seven."

"Yeah. Seven. Right. Always."

"Is there anything else?" Hannibal sensing there's more than just asking where he was because even though Will is a thousand miles away, and hated his guts, he knew his husband was fidgeting. "Will?"

"How about... dropping by at your office and have dinner with me, before I head to Wolftrap with the boys, sounds good?”

Well, that's unexpected. And suspicious as well. Hannibal glared on one of the comfort room doors as if to conjure Will and look him in the eye.

"Is there an occasion we ought to apperceive that we had neglected for a while?" i.e. our marriage, for instance? "There is no point for both of us if we were enervated by the time you arrive. Has it occurred to you I can cook?"

"Jesus Christ, Hannibal! It's just dinner! You know what… forget it! Cook everything that fancies you, fish, chicken, pork, the neighbors, whatever, I don't care! I'm going back to bed. See you tomorrow."

Hannibal pulled the phone away from his ear for as Will had the habit of killing the line with an epic exit, and mentally tick to add a score for their game of 'who pissed who first'. Hannibal couldn't remember when the game had started. From happy and content to annoyed and couldn't stand each other. They even sleep in separate rooms now. There never was a day one of them wanted to sign the dotted line, nevertheless, either one of them wondered why the idea of it is still passive until now.

Hannibal has no regrets marrying the man, but that doesn't mean punching Will's face never cross his mind.

Taking everything in and waving a taxi cab at the same time, he pulled out his phone as he expects Will was the one calling again, probably for retaliation.

“Let me guess. You peed on the bed?”

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Hannibal glance at the phone screen. He groans.

"Anthony."

"Hannibal."

Anthony Dimmond. The last time Hannibal saw this man was when Will dumped a bowl of chicken soup on his head, four -- three years ago. Hannibal smiled at that, recollecting the time when Will still express how territorial he was.

"This is a surprise…" Hannibal waved another taxi for he let an elderly on the first pass "…although I am not sure if I could digest it."

Anthony laughs. "Still haven't changed, ei? Do not fret, I'll behave. Still for the better?"

"I believe so."

"That is not how Bedelia described it. She said one day you'd just shoot _him_ in the back of the head and pay the consequences…or something like that."

"Bedelia can be very articulate when it comes to my personal life." He sighs. "Why did you call?"

"Should I get a permission to call you?"

"Technically, yes. For your own sake and my collection of china's. I have to go home…"

"Ah yes. To your loving spouse, of which he doesn't care if you're dead or alive, no less. Anyways, I called because I want to show you something you might find interesting."

"If it was a naked picture of yourself, I would have to decline the offer. The last time you sent similar you ended up extracting yourself from my house with a bowl on your head."

"I wouldn't dare again. But there _is_ a naked picture of a man, and his face is very, very familiar."

Hannibal frowned. His head is aching right now. "No more games, Anthony."

"No. No games. Even if it was, I won't be part of it. Come to the docks and see."

Hannibal frowned when the line went dead.

 

* * *

 

_Some country where tourists were not that big of a deal, five--six years ago._

Will, coffee in one hand, pushed the curtains slightly to peak outside. The Russian police milling about the streets, grabbing people in random, some asking questions, while other's punching someone in the face because of resistance. Will sighs. Damn tourist. They never learn.

He was turning towards the bar when the door burst open and a tall blond man stood there, eyes roaming, looking for something...or someone. His brown eyes locked on Will, narrowed slightly and then smiled. The man marched towards him as three policemen came rushing inside.

"There you are," the man said. Will noticed the accent, European for sure but not native. The man pulled him close and slapped him on the back. Will froze. If some people don't value personal space, he did, but the man seems he did not get the message. Will's blue eyes got even bigger when the stranger said, "Tourist will be mugged if traveling alone so act normal," in perfect French.

The policemen kept ranting behind them, harassing five other people inside the bar. The way the stranger's eyes locked on Will speaks volumes now.

_Traveling alone._

Ah shit.

Will smiled when the one of the police started to ask them. He pulled the blond man close roughly to his side. "He's with me."

 

* * *

 

Will guide the man to his room, shoved him inside and closed the door. They both lean closer to listen. The police were still out there, marching down the hall.

"I'm gonna kill my boss for this once I get home," Will murmured.

The man chuckled, his brown eyes gleamed, and held out his hand. "Hannibal."

Will shook it, smiling in return, don't know why, probably the name. "Will."

Hannibal moved away from the door. "I owe you one," he said and glanced around the room. He moves like a cat, Will thought, the way he walks, the way he stands. Will has trust issues, a duh moment for this kind of job, but he decided the man in front him has exceptions. Doesn't know why, maybe it just the way the man grinning back at him when Will caught himself staring at the man's rear. "I'm not intruding, am I?"

Will shook his head, curls bouncing on his forehead. A loud crash from outside snapped him from his reverie. The other man groans. Will sighs. "Guess we have to stay here for a while. Whiskey?" Will walked past Hannibal to grab a bottle and two glasses from the decanter. "How do you know I speak French?" he said as he poured two fingers into each glasses.

"A wild guess," Hannibal smiled as he took Will's offer of a glass.

It's a subtle answer, Will thought, but then he brushed it off. Again.

Two hours and an empty bottle of whiskey later, Will realized something. When was the last time he forgot who he was and let fate do the talking?

"So... _Hannibal_. The ruckus outside tells us something..."

Hannibal sips his drink, tongue darting out the rim of the glass and Will knew that was deliberate.

"What do you have in mind?"

"You tell me."

 

* * *

 

Hannibal woke up on an empty bed, finding it odd he didn't even notice the other man leaving the room, or leaving the bed even without him knowing. The activity they had last night was exhausting, he admits, and, usually, Hannibal was the first to leave.

The door opens suddenly and there he saw Will with a tray on his hands. Hannibal can't help himself but smile.

Coffee, toast, and what it looks like a few bite-size cakes from the bakery down the street he saw yesterday. The ruckus outside must have subsided.

Hannibal sips the coffee and glanced up at Will, thanking him silently.

They shared breakfast in silence. No need for words, it never really did. Will initiated the first kiss last night, and initiated another one when he saw Hannibal's naked skin bath by the morning light.

They stood close together by the upright window, arms clinging, foreheads touching, breathing on each other's air, one dressed, one naked, dancing with the rhythm only they can hear.

And then they kissed again…

 

* * *

 

_A week ago..._

Jerk.

Will forced a smile and waved back towards their neighbor, Donald, Ronald, whatever his name was, as he grabbed the daily morning paper from their lawn. It's been five, six years since he and Hannibal moved in together, and realized lately what on earth was he thinking sticking himself in the Baltimore suburbs. The neighbors are kind and open, yes, but they were like fictional characters on templates that pissing the hell out of Will.

Hannibal was preparing breakfast when Will stepped inside to grab his almost cold coffee, frowned at Hannibal that he didn't even replace it with the new brewed ones. How thoughtful.

"Do not smoke in here," Hannibal said, not looking up from the batter he was mixing. "Outside, please."

"I quit smoking two years ago although there's no difference to you, I wished I hadn't," Will mumbled and tossed the newspaper on the counter. "You could subscribe with an app, you know. Just tap your finger on the screen and let your ipad thinks they are not useless."

"If you felt fetching the newspaper every morning tedious, then don't do it. I did not ask you to."

"A thank you would suffice."

"Again. I didn't ask you to."

This is the sixty-first time Will ask himself why did he say yes to this man. Too early for banter, so Will ignores it. "I'll be in Wolftrap for a couple of days after the convention. Winston and Buster will go with me." He emphasized on the dogs' name and watch Hannibal's reaction. He didn't get any. "Good. I'll pack their things then."

Hannibal didn't speak nor nodded. Then after breakfast, he left for work, leaving Will to his own devices.

Will, on the other hand, did not bat an eye when Hannibal pulled his car from the driveway. He noticed Winston staring at him, head tilted, sending a message he does not want to comprehend. Buster too was behaving the same way, and after the staring contest, Will sighed and calls the sitter to start his the day.


End file.
